Love That Eats With You in Silence

The house is quiet now, and the replay begins. You are rehearsing the exact sentence you will say if the phone lights up, crafting a response so perfect it might undo the silence.

Then the shame hits — not for what you did, but for the hope that they will call at all. You hate yourself for waiting.

But listen — the light does not scold you for wanting to be found. It sits with you in the gathering dark, holding the space between your pride and your ache.

There is a love that does not require you to have the right words ready. A love that knows your name even when you are practicing speeches for a ghost.

The door is open, not because you said the right thing, but because the light is already inside, eating with you in the silence.